


Fatherlord

by sulkybender



Series: Fatherlord universe [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Firelord Zuko (Avatar), Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, M/M, Mai (Avatar) doesn't do emotions well, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Protective Zuko (Avatar), Self-Harm, Sokka has always been a good friend, Touch-Starved Zuko, Zuko (Avatar) Angst, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko will be a good dad someday, ill-advised detours, safe and loving relationships, we're goin' on a journey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulkybender/pseuds/sulkybender
Summary: “Where are we going, anyway?”“Shouldn’t have called in the Plan Guy if you didn’t want him to make the plans.”“My uncle’s the one who—”“Distinction without a difference,” Sokka said. “C’mon!”After a tragedy strikes Mai and Zuko, he isn't sure their relationship can recover. Also, he isn't totally sure he's straight.A journey with Sokka helps him figure things out.Sadness, but 60% precious Zuko cuddles.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Fatherlord universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924207
Comments: 40
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by some of the dynamics in Book 3. Mai can be very blunt, and Zuko shuts down easily, so... how will that work out, exactly? 
> 
> If you enjoy it, leave kudos and/or comments!

Now (August)

It was hard to know when things began to fall apart. There was the week when every diplomatic meeting was cancelled or postponed. There was the festival at the summer solstice, ordinarily the high point of the year, when the Fire Lord had made a momentary appearance and then vanished into his chambers for the remainder of the day. But the most prominent incident, the moment when events took a decidedly public turn for the worst, was in August, when the Fire Lord fainted in the middle of a council session on inter-kingdom trading protocol.

One moment he was listening to the Earth Kingdom ambassador expound on her proposed renegotiation of iron-ore trade routes, the next he had toppled sideways, narrowly missing a minor secretary and hitting the table with a sickening crack.

The Fire Lord was carried to his chambers slumped in the arms of a palace guard, a member of his council hastily deputized to represent the Fire Nation’s interests in the trade talks. The rumor was that the Fire Lord had been put on indefinite bed rest.

By the time Mai heard about the incident, it was late afternoon. She padded cautiously into the bedroom. The windows were flung open for fresh air, the summer light saturating every corner of the room. It fell over Zuko, curled tensely in bed. The royal physician, suspecting that the Fire Lord had overheated at the height of summer, had stripped him down and dressed the bed in light cotton sheets. The sun traced every angle of his slim chest, his shoulders looking painfully sharp. For a moment, it seemed to shine through him.

“Hey babe,” Mai said softly.

Zuko opened his eyes but didn’t answer.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

Mai settled next to him, running her thumb down the divots and ridges of his spine.

“So you're not eating again.”

“It's a spiritual thing,” Zuko said quietly.

“Bullshit.”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Congratulations,” Mai drawled. “Whose fault do you think that is?”

She rested her hand on his ribs, lining up fingers to bones. He was irritated with her, but he was also freezing cold; he leaned into her hand.

He had been like this for weeks, winnowing away. She had seen the way he woke up with dark smudges under his eyes, how he staggered under the weight of his robes, how he didn’t seem to fully understand what was being said to him, a look on his face like he was either concentrating or wincing at a crowd of gnats. He looked vaguely assaulted on all sides.

“You're kind of a mess,” Mai said, but she leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Come on. Talk to me, baby.”

“When I don't eat,” he rasped, “I don't feel. Happy?”

“What about me makes you think I'd be happy?”

Zuko closed his eyes.

“It helps me,” he said.

“It doesn't seem super productive to faint during council meetings.”

He tensed up.

“This is why I don't talk to you, Mai!”

“If you're looking for pity—”

“I’m not looking for pity! You twist up everything I say.”

“I see we're playing this game today.”

“You think everything is a game with me.”

“And you think everything you feel is so serious.” 

“If I wanted to be disappointed with myself I would’ve just stayed in bed alone,” Zuko said. "Why don't you just get out.” 

“Fine.” Mai got to her feet, straightening her robes. “Let me know when you want to be a grown-up.”

—

Then (April)

It was like being in love again, in love twice over. He went through his days distracted, slipping into a giddy smile in the middle of formal audiences. When he saw Mai he would reach for her, pull her in, kiss her neck. He spent all his time trying to be close to her. Hands enclosing her stomach, keeping her safe. _My son, my son_.

“You look like an idiot,” Mai said, kissing his ear. “You're going to walk into a wall.”

“I’m careful.”

“Babe, you walked into the fountain yesterday,” she drawled. “You’re not careful.”

“I'm just…” he trailed off. “I'm so happy.”

“You’re lucky I’m here to keep an eye on you,” Mai said, leading him into the garden.

“I am so lucky.”

They settled onto a bench near the terraces, where the shade overlapped the water, yellow and red blooms bobbing lightly in the wind. Mai stretched out on her back, resting her head in Zuko’s lap.

“How are you feeling?”

“Seasick.”

“Do you need anything?”

Mai waved her hand. “Don’t be so serious about it. It’s fine. I’m going to be fine.”

Zuko brushed his knuckles down her cheek. He remembered being a child in this garden, sprinting with wild abandon, wishing his father were here but also terrified that he might show up. He stroked Mai’s hair. 

“I'm going to keep you safe, okay?” He thought about how broad that _you_ was, how encompassing, how there was a whole other person tucked inside it.

Mai rolled her eyes, but she was smiling up at her husband.

“You’re just completely incorrigible, aren’t you?”

“That’s me,” Zuko said. “Can’t be corriged.”

He bent down and kissed her head.

“But you knew that when you married me,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Now (August)

Iroh visited later in the week, traveling as quickly as he could from Ba Sing Se. He had been told that the Fire Lord hadn’t gotten out of bed since the council meeting, but looking at his nephew, he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that Zuko hadn’t gotten out of bed in weeks. He looked ragged and pale, the pallor accentuated by his dark red robes, his hair falling limply over his face. He looked like someone at the end of a long struggle with illness. Iroh’s heart stung.

“Nephew!” he called cheerfully, sitting beside Zuko. “How I’ve missed you.”

“It’s been a long time,” Zuko rasped.

“Do you want to talk?”

“I don't know why everyone thinks I want to talk."

Iroh ruffled his hair. It was damp and stale-smelling, as if no one had dared to bathe the Fire Lord since he took to bed. Iroh suspected that Zuko hadn’t been letting servants into the room; the sheets had the same thick odor, and there were plates of uneaten food congealing on the night-stand. 

“Because you're a pleasure to talk with, nephew.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Why would that be sarcastic? You're a thoughtful young man and I enjoy speaking with you.”

“I'm just used to it, I guess,” Zuko mumbled.

Iroh settled his arm over the young man's shoulders, the weight almost crumpling him.

“You've been looking very thin and tired, nephew.”

“I don't know why everyone's decided my body is an open topic of conversation.”

“One of the many inconveniences of power,” Iroh said. “What's been bothering you?”

Zuko was quiet.

“I think I made the wrong choice,” he said.

“Any choice in particular?”

“I shouldn't have married Mai.”

An image of their wedding day, blazing in Iroh’s mind: Zuko looking handsome, abashed, holding Mai’s hand as they headed to the canopy above the palace steps. Mai kissing Zuko as they danced, tucking a fire lily in his hair. Iroh pulling him aside as the evening progressed, offering congratulations. _I can’t believe it_ , Zuko kept saying. _I can’t believe she chose me_.

“She brings out—I mean, we bring out the worst in each other.” Zuko hesitated.“And she's cruel.”

“What do you mean by cruel?”

“I misspoke. I just… feel trapped.”

“What do you mean by cruel, Zuko?”

The young man closed his eyes.

“It's nothing. It's just words.”

“Words can break the skin.” 

“She's just honest with me. You're making more out of this than—”

Iroh's hand slipped to his nephew's wrist and tightened abruptly. With his other hand he swept the sleeve back.

“Uncle!” Zuko said angrily.

His arm was thin, fragile, impossibly white. Across that backdrop, the bruises were especially dark and ugly, thrown into terrible relief. When Iroh turned his arm over, he saw deep slashes up the skin of his forearm.

“Words,” Iroh repeated. His voice was too still, and Zuko knew that he was furious.

“I wasn't lying to you,” he said. “I promise, I wasn’t.”

Iroh pushed up his nephew’s left sleeve. The bruises were darker on this arm, the cuts more ragged, as if increasingly desperate. Iroh looked at these marks without comprehending, until he did. 

“Zuko, what have you done?”

“Uncle,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Iroh gathered his nephew into his arms and squeezed forcefully, as if he thought Zuko was about to go somewhere.

“I’ve disgraced you,” Zuko said, muffled.

“You have nothing to be ashamed about,” he said. “You’re in pain.”

“It isn’t real, though. I caused it.”

“You didn’t cause it.”

Iroh held him for a long time. Zuko felt like ice, and while he responded hesitantly at first to be touched, he ended up burrowed into his uncle’s chest, greedily seeking out all the warmth he could find. He didn’t cry, but his breathing was unsteady, and he was so thin that his body shook with every breath.

“Appoint me as regent,” Iroh said finally.

“Regent?”

“Take time off. Take a week, take two weeks—take as long as you need. Recollect yourself. Relax. Maybe travel.”

“I can’t—”

“No one needs to know why. I can tell them you have shingles,” Iroh said brightly.

Zuko winced.

“Or I don’t have to do that.”

“Uncle, I can’t. I can’t run away from uncomfortable things. That’s cowardice.”

“Sometimes it’s sanity,” Iroh said.

—

“Hey babe.”

Zuko stiffened.

“I said I didn't want—”

The weight of the bed shifting, the sheets sliding from his shoulder.

“Yeah, I know,” Mai said. “I thought maybe if we didn't talk…” She slipped into bed next to him, easing his back into her chest.

He was knotted up, shaking. Mai rubbed slow circles into his skin until he began to loosen, sinking into her.

She tried to focus on his shoulders, his back. His arms were terrifying to her; she didn't understand what he was doing to himself, and she was afraid one wrong move, one hasty touch, would split him open.

“Mai,” he murmured.

“No talking.”

She buried her face in his hair, breathing in the smell of him. It was overwhelming, how much she loved him. He hadn’t washed for days and still all she wanted was to be here holding him.

Zuko loved being held. _God_. He sank into the feeling greedily, a little bitter that there wasn't _more_ , the sense of something substantial holding him. He wanted to be walloped by it, this feeling. He wanted to be safe.

He felt wetness seep into his hair and turned, folding Mai into his chest.

“Is it—”

“No talking,” she said.

They’d lost the baby in early June.

—

Then (June) 

It was a balmy afternoon. Zuko was working from a table on the balcony, hunched over a few scrolls he had weighted open with stones. He wasn't about to waste the first true day of summer reading over regulatory legislation in his chambers. The doors to the balcony were flung open, his bedroom flooded with warm yellow light.

In his head he was always scheming of ways to bring her close. Bringing her breakfast in bed, buying her books of poetry, idly sketching plans for a new garden on paperwork that would need to be hastily redrafted. He would build trellises and train white flowers to twist lightly around the wood, the blooming arches mirrored in a pond at the garden’s center. In his daydreams he did everything himself. He would have all the time in the world, and somehow he would manage to do everything in secret, so Mai wouldn’t realize what he was planning until he brought her there himself.

An attendant knocked shakily on the doors.

“They're open for a reason,” Zuko said, not looking up.

“Sir,” the attendant stammered. “It's your wife.”

Zuko froze.

“Mai?”

“The Queen, sir. She's been taken to her chambers. The royal physician is attending to—”

Pulling on his robes, Zuko couldn't make out any of the words. But it's early, he kept thinking, moving swiftly down the hall, sconces flaring as he passed. The word kept rolling in his mind. _Early. Early_.

He reached the door and raised his hand to open it, but couldn't. It was silent inside. Even through the door he could feel the texture of that silence.

“Sir?”

“Leave me,” Zuko ordered.

When the attendant had gone, he slumped against the door, pressing his forehead to the wood. He was afraid to move. He was afraid to see Mai like this—whatever _this_ was—and afraid not to see her, and suddenly absolutely sure it was his fault.

Because it was, wasn’t it? He wasn't a normal person. How could he have deluded himself into thinking he could have a normal marriage, a normal child? He'd made something too broken to be born, and he'd hurt Mai.

 _I had a child_ , he thought, and started to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving the love this story is getting! Thank you so much, guys. I'm still assessing the ending, but here's the next piece.

Now (August)

He woke up to his uncle beaming over him.

“Nephew,” Iroh said. “Let's sit out in the sun. The weather is marvelous today.”

Zuko eased out of bed, wincing when the light hit him. His uncle offered his arm and he took it, too spent to protest.

The balcony was set with breakfast for two: a steaming pot of oolong on a little table, baozi shining, plump and white, in two bamboo baskets.

“I have bok choi and komodo chicken filling,” Iroh said. “The chicken is on the right.”

It was late August, the seasons just starting to turn. From the balcony he could see smudged figures moving through the garden, the drying leaves beginning to rustle. Beyond that, the traffic and color of people in the streets. Zuko took a bao and turned it in his hands.

“It’s a lovely day to appoint your uncle regent,” Iroh said.

Zuko inhaled.

“It isn’t cowardice, and it isn’t forever,” his uncle went on. “I think you and I both know I have no interest in doing this forever.”

“I think you’re right,” he said. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Iroh squeezed his hand.

“Now eat your bao.”

“Do you remember when you taught me about lightning?” Zuko asked. “How to redirect it?”

It wasn’t really a question, but his uncle nodded.

Zuko traced one of the cuts on his arms. “You said I had to let it out or it would kill me.”

“I’m not sure the same principles apply to—”

“I know. I know, it was stupid. I’m stupid. But I’m so fucking _angry_ , so _miserable_ , and it felt like I could cut myself open and let it out.”

“Lightning is awfully violent,” his uncle said gently.

“Maybe I’m awful and violent,” Zuko said. His eyes narrowed. “When I was banished, I could go anywhere in the world but here. And now this is the only place I’m allowed to be. With her. Exile was better than this.”

“Travel,” Iroh said simply. “You can, you know. You feel trapped, but it is an illusion.”

“What about Mai?”

“I’ll talk to Mai,” Iroh said.

“I think that would make it worse.”

Iroh reached for a komodo bao and chewed it, humming.

“Rather than lightning, think instead of two trees,” he said.

“Uncle.”

“Growing together in harmony,” Iroh continued. “Sometimes trees grow into one another, and the branches chafe. That doesn’t mean the trees don’t get along. It means they aren’t growing in the proper configuration. Trees need space.”

“I don’t think I’m a tree, Uncle.”

“And I don’t think you’re lightning,” Iroh said. He lifted his nephew’s chin, looking into his eyes. “Now eat your bao.”

Then (June)

When he visited her, it was too late. They both knew that. Mai was sitting up in bed, her face drawn and bloodless, brutal shadows under her eyes. She had been in bed for three days, alone, and Zuko hadn’t visited her. He reached for her hand and she twisted away, grimacing with pain. 

“What are you even doing here?” Mai said.

“I thought—”

“Did you? Did you think about me at all?” She paused. “And what the fuck is that?”

Zuko was holding a stuffed bear-dog. He held it out to her hesitantly.

“You’re a pretty shitty person, you know that?”

He choked. “Mai—”

“What was so important you couldn’t be here, Zuko? What was more important than your wife and your child?”

“Mai,” he said, but he was already out of words. He didn’t know what to say. Nothing could justify it, and his thoughts followed each other in mazes when he tried to speak. Zuko panicked. He reached for her again.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” She picked up the oil-lamp at the side of bed, and tensed, ready to throw it in his face.

“I’ll go,” Zuko said, and walked out.

When the door had closed, Mai started crying. She rolled on her side and stared at the stupid bear-dog, fallen lopsided on the floor.

“All you had to do was show up,” she said.

Now (August)

“A vacation,” Mai drawled. “Great. How do I get one of those?”

She was sitting in the garden with Iroh, watching attendants tear out the dead plants, the dried leaves crumbling to powder at the slightest touch. They were taking out the ornamental flowers, preparing the soil for the fall. The ritual always made Mai feel melancholy, but it was also satisfying, seeing decay pulled out smartly by the roots. You couldn’t do that with everything in life.

Iroh chose his words carefully.

“Zuko is a bit... fragile right now.”

“I know,” she said, softening. “And I'm worried about him. I just wish I could get away too.”

“Maybe this can be a vacation for the both of you. Time to heal, to reflect.”

“It's not going to be a particularly healing time for me,” Mai said. “It just feels like he's abandoning me again.”

The older man looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“He didn't tell you,” Mai said. She laughed a little, bitter laughter that stung her throat.

“Tell me what?”

She waved her hand, getting to her feet. There was a mound of earth at the edge of the garden by now, the attendants making neat lines of ash in the plot. She had a lump in her throat that she couldn’t seem to swallow.

“It's his story to tell, if he wants to tell it,” Mai said. I'll see you on the other side of this vacation, Iroh.”

Iroh rose and bowed.

She paused at the gate, pain in her voice. “Is he going alone?”

“I believe so.”

“I mean, you're his uncle,” Mai said. “But I think that's a really bad idea. He's really—to use your words for it—really fucking fragile. It's a struggle just getting him to keep his food down.” She tucked her hands into her sleeves, touching the blades at her wrists. “And he can't be around anything sharp. I've had to hide my blades, and I don't really want to think of him with his swords. Someone should be there with him.”

“Thank you for telling me this.”

“Yeah. Someone had to. He's going to be pissed, I'm sure.” She laughed again, the same half-smothered laugh, like she was drowning. “Maybe tell him it's a _spiritual journey_ and he can't bring any pointy objects with him. I bet that'll work.”

“Mai,” Iroh began.

“We were going to name him after you,” she said abruptly. Then she left.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Sokka.

Now (September)

“Man trip!” Sokka said, hefting his bag over one shoulder. “Man trip for men! Leaving the womenfolk at home to do women stuff. Right, Zuko?”

“Yeah,” Zuko said. He was staring down at his bag with apprehension.

“You all right there, buddy?”

“I don't know if this is a good idea,” Zuko whispered.

“We haven't even gotten out into the wilderness yet!”

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“Shouldn’t have called in the Plan Guy if you didn’t want him to make the plans.”

“My uncle’s the one who—”

“Distinction without a difference,” Sokka said. “C’mon!”

“Look,” Zuko said. “I don't know if—I don't think I can lift my bag.” He covered his face with his hands.

“Hey, hey. It's all right. I got this.”

Sokka lofted the bag easily overhead. He had a bag on each shoulder now, like they weighed nothing.

“Why does that make me feel worse?” Zuko said.

“Inherent superiority of the Water Tribe,” Sokka said breezily. “But seriously. This is supposed to be a healing trip for you, right? It wouldn't be a healing trip if you started out healed.”

He nudged Zuko with his head.

“Now let's get out there, okay?”

Then (July)

She wouldn't touch him, would barely look at him. Her face was a mask that scared him, a milk-white buffer. At first Zuko thought she was angry that he hadn't visited. Then he began to think that it was because she knew, too.

She knew it was his fault their child had died.

He started to see signs of it everywhere, indications that the world knew what he had done. He saw people's eyes avoiding him in the streets, in the corridors, in council sessions. In his dreams he heard whispers and he woke up swathed in them, murmurs and accusations leaking from every corner of the room. He stopped meeting people in the eye. He winced if someone touched him. He didn't eat.

She had a frail, incomplete quality, like the reflection wavering on the surface of a pond

Still, he tried. He gave her necklaces and rings she didn't wear. He brought her flowers and found them outside his door, a mess of stems, their heads clipped. One evening he burned his sketches for her garden, letting the ash flare in his hands, almost enjoying the sting. Then he punched through a wall.

Now (September)

It was better outside. There weren’t corridors to hear whispers in, shadows behind doors, expressions in a crowd of faces that were too easy to find recriminations in. As they moved further from the capital, the whole landscape unfolded and opened up: wrinkled green mountains, paths that wound shakily through the trees and broke abruptly into clearing, where Zuko was assaulted with blue brightness and a sense of ease. There was more sky than he was used to.

He could feel Sokka looking at him, though, watching him. They stopped often, whenever Zuko seemed to flag, and Sokka kept him plied with water and snacks, little oat-cakes and strips of jerky. Mainly Zuko stared off into the distance, idly thumbing the jerky and trying to remember what it was like, to trust that he was seeing the world as it was.

Sokka was watching him for signs of weakness—staggered breath, a slow hobble gathering in his steps—but also just watching him. His body was different now, and he knew Sokka was thinking about this, wondering.

“Hey buddy. Are you going to eat that jerky or just look at it?”

“Oh.” Zuko started. “Um. You can have it, if you want it.”

Sokka exhaled slowly.

“Zuko, I don’t want it. I want you to have it.”

Zuko looked at Sokka helplessly, his hands limp, like he would eat if he remembered how it worked.

“I don’t think I can,” he said, and dropped the jerky.

They made it about twelve miles into the mountains. In the evening Sokka gathered wood and looked at him expectantly. Zuko was hunched on a stump, too cold and tired to think straight.

“Can we get a little flameo in here, hotman?”

“Huh? Oh. Right.”

Zuko hadn’t tried firebending in months. It wasn’t deliberate, nothing like abstinence. He just hadn’t cared. It had seemed beside the point. Now he raised his hand and the woodpile flared uneasily, a lopsided fire, the flames guttering until Sokka fed them with dry brush. It took more out of him than he expected.

“If you want to talk about anything,” Sokka began.

“I don’t really,” Zuko said.

In the night he woke up shaking from a half-sleep, his whole body jerking. It was a nightmare, he thought, before he realized it was just the cold. He felt his way toward Sokka’s bedroll in the dark, nudging him awake.

“Hey,” Zuko said softly.

“Hey,” Sokka said groggily, stretching. “What's up?”

“This is dumb but—”

“Shoot.”

"Can you hold me?”

In the silence Zuko could hear the snapping of the fire.

"I fucked up and I lost a lot of weight,” he said. “And now it's really hard for me to get warm. So I thought maybe—”

He yelped a little as Sokka rolled into him, sweeping him into the bedroll.

“How’s that?”

Oh my God, it was heaven. Warmth everywhere, the warm smell of body-heat, a sense that he was safe and secure. Sokka was rubbing circles into his back and arms, setting his skin on fire, making him dissolve. He felt like his muscles were unraveling. He cried out softly instead of answering, burying his face in Sokka's shoulder.

“A satisfied customer,” Sokka said, but his voice was uneasy as he felt Zuko’s arms. “You weren't kidding. You’re freezing. Is that why—the sleeves?”

“Huh?” Zuko felt his arms discretely, checking that he was still covered. “Sort of,” he said. “More generalized fucking up.” 

“You’re so little.” There was a pained sound that reminded Zuko of grief, or regret. “What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

“I sort of tried to die,” Zuko said, very softly. “I’m sort of still trying.”

Sokka stopped kneading his back.

“Sort of?”

“I mean… I'm not very good at it.”

Sokka breathed in sharply.

“Zuko.”

Then he was pulled tightly against Sokka’s chest. Warm hands on his arms, sealing the holes, unknotting him, heat seeping through his skin and into his veins. God. Zuko didn't want anything else. He could die happy if he died now. An infinite pause, with someone holding him. He thought about it with something like longing.

Sokka was saying something.

“—that you shouldn't. Right?”

“Sure. Yes. Right.”

“There are plenty of people who care about you.” Sokka squeezed his hand and for a moment Zuko felt faint, a sensation like vertigo. “I mean, Mai would be devastated.”

Zuko thought it would be a good time to pretend to fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposted this chapter with a small edit in the penultimate section

Now (September)

They didn't come to anything like a formal decision on it. Somehow Zuko would usually end up in his bedroll by the end of the night—a nudge at his shoulder, a nod on his part, and then there was a very cold, half-vanished person sliding into bed with him. Sokka didn't ask questions, just taking him into his arms. He had been doubling up on campsites for years, with friends and lovers and traveling companions he had barely met, and if Zuko was cold—or even if he was just profoundly lonely, which Sokka suspected—he would be there for him.

By the time Sokka woke up, it was always like a dream. The Fire Lord was moving through a kata, flamelessly, at the edge of the campsite, or preparing a breakfast he would eat very little of. If it was the former, Sokka would sit up in his bedroll, hug his knees in the early-morning chill, and watch for a while. It was a little eerie, the way he moved through the stances silently, slim and white, nothing coming from them, like watching a dance without music, or music only the dancer could hear. It was a performance by a ghost.

“If you're worried about waking me up,” Sokka said to him one morning, rolling up his gear, “don't worry about it.”

“Hmm?” Zuko was wiping his face, rising out of a low squat.

“You know.” Sokka did a hasty imitation of firebending with his fists. “The fire part. I don’t mind the fire part.”

Zuko flushed.

“I enjoy the fire part, actually.”

“No, it’s not…” The Fire Lord trailed off, increasingly flustered. His arms were crossed, like he was holding himself.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“It takes a lot of energy,” Zuko said finally. “It takes a lot of energy and I don’t have it.”

He looked almost wilted with the admission.

“Oh man,” Sokka said. “Zuko—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s my fault.”

“But that has to feel hard,” Sokka said softly. “Firebending is part of you. You probably don’t feel like yourself when you aren’t connected to it.”

“It’s better than bending when I’m weak and losing control,” Zuko snapped. Sokka reached out to him but he raised his arm, like he was barring a punch.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “Let’s get back to the trail.” 

He kept his distance from Sokka as they walked, drawn to him but feeling stung and confused. It was unnerving. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted to feel this close to someone. He couldn’t stop looking at Sokka, furtively, like he could solve the puzzle, but he never got any closer to understanding what he was looking at. _He looks good_ , Zuko kept thinking.

He didn't know what _good_ meant, when he tried to pick the word apart. He looked healthy, weaving easily up the path, muscles shifting under his sun-browned skin. He looked like Zuko used to feel. He looked like memories.

—

In the late afternoon, a little stunned by the heat, they sheltered under a tree, more or less collapsing into a nap. Sprawled on the ground, Zuko could feel the thinness of the air between them, a drowsy line that wound between their legs, their arms. 

“Hey, do you wanna—”

“Only if you do,” Zuko said quickly.

“Oh good. I'm starving.” Sokka jumped up, rubbing his hands. “I'm thinking fried fish in chili oil. Whaddayah think?”

“You packed chilis?”

“Of course!” Sokka pulled a glass vial out of his bag, rattling it. “Dried chilis: One of life's basic necessities.”

“But you didn’t even bring a backup set of pants.”

“I didn’t know if I’d _need_ backup pants,” he said patiently. “I _knew_ I’d need chilis. C’mon. I’ll catch it if you fry it.”

Sokka was busily enjoying dinner—dabbing chunks of fish in chili oil and cramming them in his mouth, pausing thoughtfully sometimes to spit out the glass-like bones. By time he had finished, most of the fish was still on Zuko’s plate. He watched the Fire Lord maneuver it carefully around, like he was guiding a toy battleship.

“You know, I've hardly seen you eat anything.” 

“The chilis are a little strong.”

“I mean, ever,” Sokka said. “This whole trip.” 

Zuko flipped a piece of fried fish with his chopsticks.

“It’s a long hike, you’re always cold, and I know you’re hungry. I mean, to be honest—” Sokka paused awkwardly, eyes caught on the stark contours of Zuko’s face. “You—you look really hungry.”

“I don't know if you'd get it,” he said finally, setting his plate on the ground.

“Try me.”

“When I'm full, I think about everything. When I'm hungry, I only think about being hungry.”

“What are you trying not to think about?”

Zuko knelt down, starting to unpack his bedroll. A hand touched his wrist and he jumped.

“Hey,” Sokka said. “You know it’s just me, right? You can tell me anything.”

He was close, crouching next to him. Sokka had a comfortingly musky smell. It was pine needles, fresh chili oil, the creek where he had speared their dinner, the damp paper of their map, the tang of perspiration beading his lip. Everything in the world clung to him, just a little bit.

“By extension, you can _not_ tell me anything, if that makes you feel better,” Sokka added. “I just want you to feel better.”

Zuko shrugged off his touch and smoothed out his bedroll. He splayed on his back, staring up at the darkening sky.

“Do you think Mai can be angry forever?” he asked softly. “Like over a mistake?”

Zuko groaned, covering his face.

“Not to be down on Mai,” Sokka said. “Katara can be like that too. The best people can be like that.”

A flash of pine needles in the darkness, the warm smell of an approaching body. He felt the sharpness of how lonely he was.

“Why?” Sokka asked. “Are you thinking about making a mistake?”

Then (July)

The balcony windows were open and he was inside, sitting at his desk. Supposedly he was up late working. Instead he kept staring at the candle burning on his desk. He was looking at it with a sense of helplessness. He wondered if this was how non-benders looked at candles: here is a fire happening and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Then Mai was sitting next to him.

“Hey,” she said. “Are we going to talk about it?”

She was wearing white and she was beautiful, her hair pulled back into a single braid. He hadn’t been this close to her in ages. Her hand brushed against his chin, making him look into her face.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry for what I did to you.”

“I just... I don't get it, Zuko. Why?”

He didn't know what to say.

“You mean the world to me,” he said.

“Look. I know talking about feelings isn't your favorite thing, but we have to try.”

“I can't forgive myself for doing this to you.”

“That's nice.” Mai closed her eyes. “You're making this about you again. You always make it about you.”

“I don't mean to. I want to be better.”

“You know you're doing it now, right?” But she rolled her eyes like she used to. She closed her fingers around his hand.

He thought he might die.

“I was walking in the garden,” Mai said. “And then I felt this pain. In my side, like someone had stabbed me. And I knew.”

“Mai,” he said.

“I knew our child had died,” she said. She wasn't crying but her voice was thick with the threat of it. “It got worse, like the knife was twisting. Someone found me crawling... I kept hoping anyway, like an idiot. And then I just kept hoping you would show up. You weren't there.”

Zuko’s jaw worked slightly but he couldn’t find his voice.

“I thought something was wrong with me.”

“Nothing's wrong with you,” Zuko said. “How could you think anything's wrong with you? You're perfect.”

She stood up. 

“Then why’d you throw me away, Zuko?”

“Mai—”

“I'm done.” 

He thought he should go after her, but suddenly he wasn’t sure if she had ever been there. Hadn’t he always been alone, in this room, the smell of jasmine sweeping in from the gardens?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comfort for Zuko, but he's also at max-capacity awkward turtleduck... Don't be too upset with him.

Now (September)

Five days into the hike, as evening started to soften the landscape, a chain of lights appeared in the near distance.

“Is that Daisato?” Zuko asked.

“On the ridge there? Yep, that's it.”

“Can we stop there?”

Sokka raised an eyebrow.

“I don't know how much you hear about this kind of thing in the palace, but Daisato's got quite a reputation. Mainly for brothels.”

Zuko rubbed the back of his neck.

“That's kind of why I want to go,” he said.

“ _No way_ ,” Sokka said. “None. Call me a sentimentalist, but I like my fingers where they are. I don't particularly want Mai to slice them off.”

“It's not like that,” Zuko said quickly. “I want to see a guy.”

“What?”

“It's not cheating if it's with a guy.”

“Are you insane?” Sokka shouted. “Why would that not be cheating?”

“Because I don't like guys.”

“You literally just said you want to see one. Why would you want to see guys if you didn’t—” Sokka paused, looking at him with sharp blue eyes. “Zuko.”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “No. Sokka, it isn’t like that.”

The blue eyes were still on him, getting sharper.

“I get cold. I am cold.” Zuko cupped his hands, breathing a little steam into them to demonstrate. “This is just something I need to figure out, Sokka.”

Sokka rubbed his temples.

“Mai's still gonna kill me.”

“Then don't go,” Zuko said. “You don't have to lie if you don't see anything.”

“To be clear, I _really_ don't want to see anything.”

Zuko flinched, looking down.

“Hey. Buddy, hey.”

Sokka draped his arm over Zuko's shoulders and pulled him in close.

“I don’t mean it like that,” Sokka said. “I care about you, okay? You know that, right?”

“I'm a mess,” Zuko said.

“I don't care if you—what you—I don’t care. I just want to make sure you know what you're doing. This would really hurt Mai.”

“She doesn't have to know.” Zuko's voice was tight with longing. “I really want this. I need this.” 

On the one hand: God, no, absolutely not. On the other: he was really so small. Sokka kept thinking about it, how small the Fire Lord was. At sixteen Zuko had been a menace, huge with muscle and spite. Now, at twenty, his body was like a glance. He vanished under Sokka’s arm. Something was clearly killing him from the inside, even if Zuko didn’t want to talk about it, or couldn’t.

“You'll need a code name.”

“Sokka!”

Zuko hugged him fiercely.

“For the record, I don’t approve of this,” Sokka said. “I'll take you to one of the better places, but then I'm going to turn away, okay? We can meet up at a bar. If you don't show up, I'll say I'm looking for Li.” 

—

The town was crowded with lanterns, red and gold lights, and the smoke drifting up from carts selling skewers of barbecued meat. Sokka brought him to a brothel on a neglected corner. There was a long banner trailing in front, impossibly detailed calligraphy and the image of a fish.

“Okay, buddy. You’re sure you want to—”

“I’ll meet you at the bar.”

Sokka nodded.

“Down the street and to the right,” he said. “Good luck.”

He squeezed Zuko’s shoulder and then he was gone.

Zuko pulled up his hood.

Inside it was dimly lit, red candles glowing mildly at the corners of the room. There was a woman waiting at the door in a yellow silk dress. She looked at Zuko expectantly, like he was supposed to know what to say.

“Uh, hi,” he said. “I'm a guy.”

“I can see that, sir.”

“What I mean is... Right. I want to see another guy.”

“Ah,” the woman said. “Any preferences?” 

Zuko blushed furiously under the hood.

“Someone who's... kind? And a good listener? And maybe with an interest in—”

“This is a brothel, sir,” the woman said drily. “I meant something in terms of physical characteristics. If you're looking for a dating service—”

“No,” Zuko said. “I know what I'm doing.” He took a deep breath. “Someone strong who can be gentle.”

“Satori!” the woman called. “Lead this gentleman to a private room.” 

—

The room was small, windowless, clean. Sticks of incense smoldered on the dresser. There were candles burning to either side of a bed covered with embroidered pillows, which Zuko found, for some reason, absolutely terrifying. He stood waiting in front of the bed, feeling his heart shake him every time it beat.

It’s a mistake, Zuko thought. This is the worst mistake.

When the door opened, he jumped, a twist of flame at his wrists.

“A bender, huh?” the man said. “How exciting for both of us.”

He must have been Earth Kingdom. He was tall, broad-chested, somewhere in his thirties, with honey-dark skin and a stubbly brown beard. He asked Zuko to call him Toru, and didn’t ask what Zuko wanted to be called.

“What can I do for you tonight?” he said breezily, pulling his white tunic over his head.

Zuko stared at the man’s chest, looking stricken.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I haven't been to... to one of these before.”

“Have you had sex?”

“Not with…”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know if…”

The man looked unfazed. His eyes were green, like jewels. “Uh huh,” he said. “How about we start with this.”

Gently he pulled Zuko in, pushing back his hood. Zuko winced, expecting him to draw back when he saw the scar tissue consuming half his face, but Toru didn’t even pause. He began kissing up the line of his jaw and into his mouth, searching out his tongue. Zuko started. Then he leaned in, like a plant growing into the light.

“Do you like that?” Toru murmured.

Zuko whined softly, collapsing into him.

“I think he likes that,” Toru said. He pulled Zuko’s topknot loose and eased him onto the bed, stroking the dark silky hair as it fell around Zuko’s face. Then he kissed the Fire Lord’s temples, grazing the skin along his scalp with soft lips and the sharp bristles of his chin. A line of heat ran up his body wherever Toru touched.

“You have beautiful hair,” he murmured, his voice so close and deep that Zuko felt it inside his bones. “You’re beautiful.”

A whine from somewhere deeper in Zuko’s throat, like he was going to cry.

Toru kissed the corners of his eyes, fingers delicately brushing the margins of his scar. Then he burrowed in Zuko’s mouth again, tender and sloppy, as he began working at the clasps of his tunic with one hand. The other shifted to Zuko’s crotch. As soon as Toru’s fingers closed around him, it was like something in Zuko sang out. He surged.

“Look at you, baby,” Toru said, running his hands down Zuko’s chest. “I think I know just what to do with you.” 

“I lost my child,” Zuko blurted out.

Toru paused, startled.

“He died,” Zuko said, clearing his throat. “My son died.” 

“I'm sorry to hear that.” The hands on his body didn’t move, but seemed to sink in, holding his ribs, and Zuko took small, hesitant breaths, afraid that if he moved too much Toru’s hands would slip away.

“Is that why you're here?”

“I don't know,” Zuko said miserably.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, a different note in his voice this time. 

Zuko touched the man’s wrist, hesitantly. He didn’t know how to ask for anything. Everything he had ever asked for had been taken from him. And that was right, wasn’t it? What had he ever done to deserve pleasure? How could he feel anything at all, knowing what he had done to Mai, what he was doing to Mai just by being here?

“Can you just… Can you say you’ll take care of me?”

The man nodded, eyes softening.

“I'll take care of you,” he said.

Zuko shuddered, like the words had undone him. Toru eased the young man’s tunic over his head and paused. Bare-chested, you could see all Zuko's ribs, the scars and fresh cuts winding up his arms, the violence and panic and unevenness in the marks. Zuko waited for him to say something, to step back, to walk away, but again, he didn’t. His hands moved lightly over the damaged skin, the barest caress.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Toru murmured.

He folded Zuko into his chest, nuzzling warm, soft kisses into his neck.

“I’ll take such good care of you,” he said.

—

Then (December)

They were lying in bed, facing each other, and Mai kept looking at him with an expression he didn't understand.

“If there’s something on my face, just tell me.”

“I like looking at you,” she said, tucking his hair behind his ear. “You're beautiful.” 

Zuko turned over.

"Hey! Come back here.” She pulled him back towards her, hands cupping his cheek. “You know that, right?”

He ducked his head again, but she nudged his mouth open, kissing him until he was soft with love, his lips swollen. Mai traced her hand along the long line of his stomach, circling his hip-bones, then pulled back. He leaned after her, looking a little stricken.

_Touch me, touch me, touch me_.

“Babe,” she said. “Talk to me. Why does it make you uncomfortable?”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he said. "I liked that.”

He reached for her hand, kissing the knuckles, and guided her back to his hips.

_Please_.

“When I call you beautiful,” Mai said. She buried her warm mouth in his neck, inching up his jaw.

“I don’t want to—”

“Talk.”

“I don’t like what I see,” he said. “When I look in the mirror.”

“But I do.”

Zuko looked away, like he’d been slapped.

“I’m the Fire Lord,” he said hoarsely. “I look like the Fire Lord.”

“You're nothing like him.”

Zuko shook his head, eyes burning. “I am.”

“Why do you even care? You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

“You really care too much about everything. You’re just a…” Mai waved her hand. “ A bundle of feelings all the time.”

His face closed up. 

“It’s not like I try to be,” he said.

“I know you’re not. Just try to control it.”

“You’re always acting like my feelings are something I’m doing to you on purpose!” he blurted out. “Like I have feelings just to annoy you.”

Mai rolled her eyes.

“Babe, come on.”

“No, I won’t come on!” Zuko said, flustered. “You ask me these questions and make me open up and when I open up you shut me down!”

“I get the feeling we’re at an end to what we can say constructively here,” Mai said. She rolled over, facing the window. “Let me know when you want to talk like a grown-up.”

—

Now (September)

Toru held him for a long time, lips pressed to Zuko’s forehead in a resting kiss. His hands filled the conclaves and ghostly hollows in his sides, making Zuko feel, for a little while, warm, completed.

Then Toru got up and the coldness came back.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Toru said. He threw on a thin red robe and opened the door. When he came back, he was carrying a covered basket.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, smiling, and Zuko flushed. “Take a look.”

Inside there were persimmons, apple-pears, a dense brown bread studded with seeds and currants. Toru took a bottle of rice-wine from the dresser and handed it to him.

“You'll like it better if it's warm,” he said.

He settled into bed with Zuko again, taking him into his lap. Zuko buried his face in the man’s neck, breathing in his smell. Toru spread the cloth covering from the basket over the bed. With a small paring knife, he deftly cut slices from the persimmons and apple-pears—shockingly orange, tremblingly glossy as the moon—and crumbling blocks of the seed bread.

“I thought it would be nice to eat together,” Toru said, rubbing his back. “Is the wine ready?”

He fed Zuko pieces of fruit and bread, with small cups of steaming rice-wine. Zuko chewed quietly. It took all of his concentration to make himself eat, but it wasn't as painful as it usually was, with Toru smoothing his back, kissing him with a sweet mouth that tasted like the easy spice of persimmons.

“I said I'd take care of you, right?”

—

When Sokka saw Zuko again he was freshly washed, cheeks flushed slightly with pink. His dark hair was damp, half-pulled back, the rest spilling over his shoulders. There was something regal about him that Sokka couldn’t place, until he realized this was the first time in ages he’d seen Zuko looking like he’d given a damn about personal hygiene.

The Fire Lord settled on a stool next to him, clean and dazed.

“Li, my man!” Sokka clapped him awkwardly on the back. “Did everything… ah… go all right?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. His voice was a little slurred, less like he was drunk and more like he was half-asleep. “I’m… I’m wrapping my head around it.”

“You want a drink?”

Zuko shook his head, lips pursed.

“You should probably pull that up,” Sokka said.

“Hmm?”

He reached for the hood of Zuko's cloak and tugged it over his head. Zuko took Sokka’s hand before he could pull it back, pressing it tightly, then let it fall.

“You doing okay?”

“I'm not sure,” Zuko said.

“Let me finish this drink and we'll get out of here.”

“Can I have some?”

Sokka sighed.

“I told you, man, I’m happy to order—” 

“I don't want a full glass,” he said. “I just want this.”

Zuko lifted the glass and placed his lips along the imprint where Sokka's mouth had been. He drank steadily, then set it down. “I just want this,” he repeated. He still looked dazed, but his eyes were hot, as if he had a fever. Sokka realized with a little horror that his friend was aroused.

“Okay, buddy. Let's get you out of here.”

He helped Zuko off the stool, guiding him to the door. The town was a flurry of lights, shining lanterns in red and gold dangling from every shop, trampled paper streamers in the roads. Zuko looked like he was watching everything carefully, trying to memorize it: wagons, discarded orange peels, cheap chopsticks splintering underfoot. He stumbled into Sokka and the line of fire needled through him again, the way it had when Toru touched him.

“Zuko?”

“I'm confused,” Zuko said. He sounded frightened.

Sokka linked arms with him and pulled him gently toward the city gates.

“We'll get back into the mountains and build a camp,” he said smoothly, like everything was fine. “How's that sound?”

“But—but what if we don't come back?” 

“That's, uh, kind of the idea, buddy.”

Zuko looked behind him one more time, trying to see through the haze of smoke and tight alleys to waving banner that marked the door of the place where he had felt a shameful sense of peace. He couldn't find it. Then Sokka tugged his arm, and he recognized that it was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you all for reading. Every comment and kudos means the world to me as a writer recovering from a pretty crappy few years. And I'm really touched with the feedback I've gotten from readers who also know some of struggles laid out here.
> 
> I'm going to put in a plug for "Fire is the hunger in everything," my other (now completed!) Zuko-centric story, which is also about recovery from self-harm and grappling with eating disorders. It's darker, goes more deeply into these issues, and delves into some headcanon for Zuko's family history. 
> 
> There's, uh, also sex.

It was early morning, smoke curling up from the fire, and they were bent over their porridge. Zuko was actually eating it, with slow, jerky swallows like he was trying not to cry. Sokka did his best not to watch him, lest he feel self-conscious and stop eating at all, but it was a little heartbreaking. He kept thinking Zuko was about to choke.

“Can we take it easy today?” Zuko asked.

Sokka raised his eyebrows and watched the Fire Lord turn an interesting shade of purple.

“It’s not like that!” he yelled.

“Sure, sure,” Sokka said lightly.

“We didn't—I didn’t—” Zuko sputtered, “ _do_ anything. I'm just tired.” 

“Mmm hmm.” Sokka touched his friend’s knee. “Hey, I'm just being an asshole. You know that, right?”

Zuko looked at him miserably.

“Do you feel like you figured it out?” he asked. “What you wanted to know?”

“From last night?”

“Yeah.” 

Zuko turned the empty bowl in his hands. There was a lot he could say. He could tell Sokka that he hadn’t betrayed Mai, that they hadn’t really done anything—that a well-muscled man with what was almost certainly a fake name had cuddled him for a long time, made him a snack, and then given him a bath—but that wasn’t really true, because it felt like everything.

He had woken up with a question in his mouth and it had been sitting there ever since, heavy, like a marble. 

“I want to feel safe,” Zuko said. “I just want to feel safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you feel safe with Suki?”

“I... I guess?” Sokka rubbed the back of his neck. “But I think I always do. I never feel like I'm not.”

“I'm always hurting Mai.” Zuko said the words slowly, but then they came out in a rush. “I don't mean to but I can tell. When I try to hold her, there's always this sudden sharpness, when I least expect it, and I never know when she's going to hurt me, and I don't trust anyone, or anything, and _I don't feel safe_.” 

Sokka paused, looking at him.

“Do I feel safe?”

Zuko was taken aback.

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “You always feel safe.” 

“C’mere.”

Zuko shifted closer, hesitantly, and Sokka scooped him up in a massive hug. The firebender tensed with surprise, then melted completely. He nudged his face into Sokka’s chest and mouthed the question there, where no one could hear it. _Would you ever want me?_

“What if I stayed with you, at the palace?” Sokka asked. “Would that make you feel safe?”

“At the…?”

“Just for a little while, until you're back on your feet. We can have dumb arguments just like old times. I mean, not old-old times. Medium-old times? When we would fight but we weren't actually trying to kill each other?” 

“Sokka—”

“We can spar and get in shape again—I'm really out of practice with broadswords—and we can have our meals together.” He squeezed Zuko's shoulder. “And you won't have to worry about anything at all, because I'll protect you.”

Zuko broke down crying.

“Hey, hey. You're all right. You're okay.” 

He patted Zuko’s back. 

“Why would you do that for me?” Zuko asked.

“Because I'm your friend.” Sokka hesitated. “It hurts to see you like this, Zuko. You're clearly in a lot of pain. And I think maybe talking doesn’t help as much as just being here for you does.”

“I should’ve _been_ there,” he sobbed. “Oh fuck, Sokka. I didn’t know what to say but I should have just _been there_.”

“C’mon. It’s okay.” Sokka drew Zuko in closer, rubbing firm circles into his back. “I have zero idea what you’re talking about, but it’s okay.”

—

On the eighth day, they reached the summit. A ripple of gold as far as the eye could see, colliding with the cold blue sky.

“ _Sokka_. It's beautiful.”

Zuko dropped his bag, walloped.

“Isn’t it?” Sokka grinned. “They’re called the Fire Ridges. This valley is evergreen for miles, and then this one strip of land is all maple and yew. I was backpacking out here last spring. I stopped at a village for supplies and they told me I had to come back in the fall. So I did.”

“You planned this whole trip around ending up here and you didn’t even know what it would look like?”

Sokka shrugged.

“You have to take things on trust sometimes.” 

They stood there watching the white clouds curl and roll into the gilded hilltops. The air felt colder and thinner than even the altitude could account for, and Zuko took huge, grasping breaths. A warm arm settled on his shoulder, steadying him.

“I thought it would be a nice metaphor, if it worked out,” Sokka said quietly. “Or symbolic. Whatever the word is.” 

“How do you mean?” 

Sokka rubbed the back of his neck.

“I mean, you’re pretty down on being Fire Lord right now. But look how beautiful the Fire Nation is. There are all these amazing hidden pockets we don’t even know about. And you’re helping them thrive, and keeping them safe, because you’re a good ruler. A great one.”

“That’s—Sokka.” Zuko was a little staggered. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“Also, I think it kind of looks like your pointy crown thingy.”

Zuko blinked. “Thanks?”

“Where does that thing stay when you travel?”

“My uncle has it.” Zuko started laughing.

“Hey, what’d I say?”

“You’re just ridiculous,” he said. “In the best way.”

He drew Sokka in for a hug, thinking about the Fire Ridges: something vulnerable at the heart of something impenetrable, something that was gorgeous because it could be hurt and recover and change. 

“Thank you,” Zuko said.

—

On the last night of the trip, Zuko couldn’t sleep. He hunched against a tree, drowsily turning a circle of flames in his hands.

“So you _are_ feeling better.”

“Huh?”

Sokka was propped up on his elbows, head poking out of the bedroll, face shining with the fire. “You’re doing it,” he said. He spun a finger in the air. “The flame thingie.”

“Oh.” Zuko let the fire fizzle out.“I didn’t realize. I was just thinking.”

“You don’t have to stop. I like it.”

“You get bored too easily.”

Sokka shrugged. “On the one hand, easily bored. On the other hand, easily entertained. What’s on your mind?”

“Do you think I did the wrong thing?”

Sokka got up and sat beside Zuko.

“You didn’t do what I would have done,” he said. “But that doesn't mean it was wrong.”

Zuko was absently rubbing circles into his knee, like he was trying to wipe something off.

“I mean, do you regret it?” Sokka asked.

“No,” he said immediately.

“Okay, so that’s your answer. You couldn’t have _not_ done it. Would you do it again?”

“Not like that,” Zuko said finally.

“What do you mean, not like that.”

Zuko thought about all the easier choices he could be making—setting his head on fire, say, or jumping to his death. He thought about Sokka’s confused face, wavering in the dark. The darkness had a tentative, warm quality, like a mantle someone had remembered to pull over his shoulders, like someone was looking out for him for once.

He touched Sokka's hand.


	9. Chapter 9

Now (October)

Zuko was in his chambers, unpacking, when he felt someone standing at the door. A long, lean shadow paced toward him.

“Welcome back,” Mai said.

“Thanks.” He pulled a shirt from his bag, not sure if he could meet her eyes.

“I see you brought Sokka with you.” 

Zuko flinched.

“I think it's a good idea,” she said.

“Really?”

“You’re pretty isolated here. It’s just been you and me for a long time. And I know you missed him.” 

“I don't think I even knew that,” Zuko said. He lifted his face and she stepped back a little.

“You look really good,” Mai said, surprised.

The hollows in Zuko’s face had started to fill out, the angles and shadows giving way to a sense of ease, like he belonged in his own skin again.

“Thanks,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“I have to admit, when I heard the plan was _exertion in the wilderness_ I wasn't sure how much of you was going to come back.”

He was still very thin. When Mai gathered him in her arms, he tensed at first, and she could feel the bones jabbing under her touch. Then he loosened, exhaling slowly.

“Thank you for touching me,” Zuko said. His voice broke her heart.

“Babe.” Mai pulled him closer, hands cupping his ribs protectively. “I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

“Lose me to what?”

“To you.”

She kissed his wrists, the puckered skin where he had tried to pull himself open. “I missed you,” she said into his palms.

“Can we talk?”

“We’re talking now.”

“I mean…” He held her face in his slim hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Zuko—”

“I know this doesn’t make any sense but I—I thought I caused it.”

“Why would you have caused it?”

“I don’t know,” he said miserably. “By being me.”

“Sit down,” Mai said. She led him to the bed and they sat together cross-legged, leaning into each other, arms braced.

“It isn’t your fault,” she said.

“But it _was_ ,” he insisted. “It’s really fucking dumb and I don’t know how, but I _know_ it was.”

“That makes less than no sense.”

“I know,” he said. “So I tried to stay back when you were hurt, because I thought I would make it worse. And I did make it worse. I made you upset whenever I was around you.”

“I lost my temper,” Mai said flatly. “Because I thought I was alone. I thought you’d left me alone to deal with it because it was a woman thing or something. I thought you didn’t want to think about it.”

“No!” Zuko said. “I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. I think I went insane. Mai.” His voice cracked. “You were the only person who loved me and then you pulled away.”

She pulled him into her chest, holding him as tightly as she could. He felt her tears running into his hair.

“We had a son.”

“We did,” she said.

He fumbled for her lips. There was a tang of salt in both their mouths, but it felt wonderful, to be so close again.

“Don't ever fucking do that again,” Mai murmured into his ear. “If I didn't want you around I would have said so. You know I would have.”

“I know.” He kissed her again. “You've always been better with words than me.”

“I don't know if ‘better’ is how I'd describe it.”

“You speak your mind.”

“I have no filter.”

“I mean.” Zuko took a deep breath. “You don't have to baby me or anything. But I grew up with Azula, and with Ozai. That's how I learned to see the world.”

Her eyes softened.

“We should have talked about this a long time ago,” she said quietly.

“I was afraid.”

“I don’t want you to move around me like I’m going to hurt you,” she said. “Because I won’t. I promise.”

For a long time they lay on their backs in bed, Mai’s head resting on Zuko’s chest, hand smoothing out his scars. She could feel his heart under his ribs.

“How was staying with Uncle?”

“He talked to me a lot about trees,” Mai said.

—

Then (February)

It was late winter, the windows crested with ice. Zuko poked at the fire in the hearth, mostly to find an excuse to be close to it. He had a bad habit of toying idly with fire, which had been the death of the last set of drapes in his chambers.

“Hey Fire Hazard.”

Zuko dropped the poker guiltily and turned around.

“There's something I need to tell you,” Mai said, grinning.

“What did I do?”

His wife frowned.

“Zuko, what the fuck? Why do you always go there?”

“It just... It always seems likely.”

“I'm pregnant.”

Zuko’s eyes widened. “I'm gonna be a father?” His face flooded with a huge, giddy smile. She kissed the corners of his mouth, laughing.

“ _Mai_.” He bent down, kissing her stomach.

“My mom says it'll be a boy,” Mai said, rolling her eyes. “I don't know how she thinks she knows.”

“I’m gonna be a _father_ ,” he said again, looking up at her with uncertainty in his eyes. He looked a little sick.

“Babe, you’ll be great at it.”

“I don't know how.”

“Well, look,” Mai said. “We both had pretty shitty dads. But I think they were assholes before they became fathers anyway. And you're not an asshole. You're sweet, and kind, and brave.”

She kissed the top of his head.

“And anyway,” she said, “you don't know what to do, but you know a hell of lot about what not to do. So just don't be an asshole and you'll be fine.”

“That does sort of seem like the bare minimum,” Zuko said. He took her hand. “I'll take care of you,” he said softly.

“I'll take care of you too. If you show me how.” She bent down next to him, burying her face in his neck. “You’re sort of a fucking enigma, babe. But we'll figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... So they're going to try to work things out. 
> 
> I started this story very skeptically, trying to understand how Mai and Zuko could end up together, given her tendency to shut him down when he's having EMOTIONS. But I think there's something there, even if they have real communication issues to solve.
> 
> That said, I wrestled a lot with this ending, enough that I also wrote a cuddly one-shot where he ends up with Sokka. That's a straight injection of love and support, coming to you soon <3


End file.
